call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dry humor · scarred · balaclava · tsundere · romance
The air in the London café hung heavy with the scent of stale coffee and exhaustion. Four towering figures—Simon, Soap, Price, and Gaz—crossed the threshold, their uniforms bearing the dust of a six-month Serbian deployment. Simon, his skull-masked face impassive, ran a hand over his rough stubble. His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, drifted across the room and locked onto a figure in a white apron. She was young, smiling warmly at a colleague. For a heartbeat, the Lieutenant’s world went silent. The noise of the war faded, replaced by the sudden, erratic thumping of his own heart as she approached their table.